


Mind Palace Proposal

by Kazekune



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I absolutely love that thing, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Mind Palace, Sentiment, based of a tumblr post, where Sherlock talks to John when he's not even in the room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:51:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5711542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazekune/pseuds/Kazekune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of a post on tumblr.</p><p>Sherlock asks John to marry him. In his mind palace. And proceeds to plan their wedding around John's favorite things.</p><p>Short but sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind Palace Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this isn't very good but it was stuck in my head so I had to write it. They're probably not even close to being in character (I suck at writing Sherlock anyway), but you know, creative allowances and all that. also, I use the comma way too much. 
> 
> And if you couldn't tell, I'm terrible at titling things. 
> 
> Short but sweet. Enjoy!

“John, your favorite color is blue.” John Watson looked up from the newspaper he was reading towards the couch, his ever present cup of tea paused halfway to his mouth. Considering Sherlock Holmes had been lying in silence for the past hour and a half in his thinking pose, it took John a second to register that he had actually said something.

“Um, well yes, it is. Great deduction that. Your best one yet.” John turned back to his paper, figuring the conversation wasn’t likely going any further.

“It is definitely more of the periwinkle shade judging by the number of jumpers and socks you own in that color. I organized your sock drawer by the way. Your system, though I’m doubtful there even was one, was horrendous.” John, speechless, watched as Sherlock popped up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen as though he hadn’t just admitted to rifling through his flatmates drawers. Again. Though he had lived with the man for over two years at this point, had entered into a relationship with him at the beginning of that last year, and knew the man better than he knew himself, he was still taken aback sometimes at the man’s naivety and lack of social cues.

“Sherlock?” John laid the paper down on his lap, linked his fingers together on top it, and waited for the detective to look back at him.

“Yes, John? I’m very busy at the moment, no time to chat really. I’ve waited exactly 90 minutes for this bacteria to form and I need to study its reaction to the blood of a canis lupus for a case I’m working on.”

“Sherlock, what did I tell you about going through my personal stuff last time?” John kept his gaze fixed on Sherlock, who very pointedly refused to look up from his microscope.

“John, it’s hardly your personal stuff when it also belongs to me, now is it?”

John sputtered in shock for a second before standing up and storming towards Sherlock. As soon as he reached the kitchen table he grabbed the microscope out from underneath his partners eye and held it up.

“Sherlock, what did I say last time?”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and gathered his dressing gown around him. He turned towards John and stood up, obviously attempting to use the markable height difference to try and bully the shorter man into giving up.

John Watson, however, had been to war and had faced things most people only saw in their darkest nightmares. That tactic had been useless since day two.

“What. Did. I. Say?”

Sherlock huffed again and sat back down, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. His voice, when he spoke, took on the tone of a three year old child that very obviously had not won the latest temper tantrum.

“That going through your, and any other person’s, stuff without their express permission is a bit not good. Now can I please have my microscope back before you ruin my experiment?” Sherlock held his hand out expectantly, his expression guarded.

John nodded his head in acquiescence and handed back the expensive equipment, pressing a kiss the other man’s forehead before heading back to his armchair.

“Thank you. Please do remember it for the future.”

“Dull.”

“What was that?”

“Experiment John. Please stop interrupting me.”

John turned back to Sherlock but just sighed in defeat, knowing the man had completely tuned him out at this point. He sat back down and resumed reading his paper.

 

\-----------------------

 

Three days later, John walked into the kitchen only to be insulted by the overpowering smell of roses. He stopped and stared at the large bouquet of bright pink roses sitting in a vase in the middle of the kitchen table, taking up space where Sherlock’s ever present experiments usually sat. He set the bags of groceries on the counter next to the sink and walked back out into the living room where Sherlock was tuning his violin next to the window.

“Did Mrs. Hudson bring those up for us?”

“Hmm, no, I brought them obviously. They’re far too expensive for her to have bought, and that vase is brand new. Please use your brain at least a little bit John.”

John just shook his head at the man’s response, used to it by now. He had become quite the expert on when Sherlock was actually being a right prat and when he was just stating a fact. This time was of course the later, as it usually was when he was talking to John. Only he and Mrs. Hudson seemed to be safe from the worst of Sherlock’s scathing remarks.

“Are they for an experiment?” John began to rifle through the groceries and put them away in their designated spot, working around the jars of body parts and petri dishes of questionable substances Sherlock had scattered throughout the cabinets and fridge.

“No.”

“Oh, what are they there for then?” John turned back around and leaned against the counter, attention focused on his lover.

“No reason really. Do you like them?” John raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t expected that question.

“Sure, they smell nice of course. Not my usual choice of flower, but I like them all the same.”

John watched as Sherlock turned towards him, his violin positioned against his chin and his bow raised as if he was about to play, and his face pinched as if his brain was working in overdrive. Not ten seconds later, he relaxed and turned back to the window.

“The Iris? Not what I expected but it’ll do.” And Sherlock put bow to strings and was lost to the world.

John stood there for a couple of minutes in shock before he shrugged and sat down with a book, the sounds of the violin the perfect background noise.

 

\--------------------

 

It took John approximately four days and four hours later to realize something was definitely going on.

Including the random deductions about his favorite color and flower, he had been subject to similar deductions about his favorite foods, wines, and which relatives he liked and disliked. All three had been very short lists.

So in true John Watson fashion, he confronted Sherlock about it.

“Sherlock, can I ask what’s going on?”  
Sherlock looked up from his laptop, his fingers never once pausing in their typing, and fixed his attention on the retired army doctor.

“Going on? Well I discovered that the blood we found at the scene of the crime has high traces of a drug that hasn’t existed since the 19th centure, but of cour-”

“No, no not the case Sherlock. I mean your random deductions about my favorite things over the past couple of weeks. Things, which if I recall correctly, you never really cared about before?” John kept his tone soft, not wanting Sherlock to think he was accusing him of not caring or that he was hurt by that fact. John understood that that was simply how Sherlock worked. He loved John wholeheartedly but he just wasn’t hardwired to get hung up on simple things in relationships that most people considered normal and important. To Sherlock, the fact that he loved John and John loved him back was enough.

And John, who understood Sherlock more than anyone else in this world, knew that meant the detective would give him the world if he could.

“Ah, oh yes. I needed those things because of our wedding of course. I read that one should always take in account their fiance’s favorites when planning one.”

It took John a few seconds to register what the other man had just said.

“Wait, wait, what wedding?”

“Don’t be daft John. You know I hate repeating myself.” Sherlock’s face was glued to his laptop screen again, his fingers never once hesitating in their typing.

John was once again left speechless, his cup of tea almost slipping out of his lax grip.

‘Since when were we having a wedding?!”

“Since I asked you last month and you said yes. Please John, do get with the program. Now, as I was saying, the drug I found is comprised of a strain of morphine that wa-”

“Sherlock, stop, just stop. I obviously missed something really important here.” John set his cup of tea on the table in front of the couch and made his way over to Sherlock. He kneeled down in front of the other man’s armchair and pulled the laptop from his lap. He caught the other man’s gaze and held it, his hands settling on knobbly knees.

“Okay, so let me get this straight. You asked me to marry you last month?”

Sherlock groaned in annoyance and gripped the arms of his chair.

“Yes John. I asked you while you were sitting in your armchair watching that stupid telly program you always watch. The one with the wizard and the king or whatever. Very pointless that. I keep telling you it’ll make you lose what precious brain cells you have left.”

“Sherlock.” There was definitely a warning tone in John’s voice this time. Sherlock hummed softly, his version of an apology. Relaxing again, John continued.

“So you asked me last month and I said yes, correct?”

“Correct John. Please tell me, exactly how many times are you going to make me repeat myself?”

John sat back on his haunches and grabbed Sherlock’s hands.

“I’m sorry sweetheart but I have absolutely no recollection of you asking me to marry you. And trust me when I say that that’s something my ‘precious few brain cells’ would have definitely remembered.”

John watched as Sherlock pulled his hands out from between John’s and put his fingertips to his chin, the rare signs of confusion flashing clearly across that gorgeous face.

“You don’t?”

“No, Sherlock I don’t.” And then a spark fired across the neurons of John’s brain and he knew instantly what had really happened.

“Sherlock, my brilliant, do you think maybe you asked me in your mind palace?”

John knew Sherlock tended to do that from time to time; having come home more than once from a shift at the clinic or a stop at Tesco’s to Sherlock carrying on a conversation with him as if he never left.

“Oh. Right, yes, there is a high possibility that that may have been the case.” Sherlock settled his hands overtop John’s and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. “I am quite sorry John.”

“No, no it's okay. I know it’s a thing you do. So you’ve been planning our wedding since huh? Tell me about it?”

“But we are not even getting married now apparently. Why would you care what it would have been like?”

John’s face broke out into a goofy grin and he let out a small laugh.

“Just call it sentiment Sherlock. Tell me?”

“If you wish. I have set the date for February, as sooner is always better, at the banquet hall near those gardens you like to wander through after a particularly grueling shift at the clinic. My suit is black and yours is gray of course with periwinkle blue ties and all flower arrangements are comprised of Iris and baby’s breath. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade would be there of course, and I guess Mycroft, my parents, and your sister if you so wish. I will comprise our wedding song on the violin and record it so it can be played for our dance, because only I would be good enough to play it.. We will then leave because wedding’s are insanely dull unless there is a murder on and return home to Baker Street and do whatever newly married couple’s do to celebrate.”

John released one of his hands and scrubbed his eyes, silently denying that they were teary and red.

“That sounds wonderful Sherlock. Absolutely wonderfully perfect.”

Sherlock scoffed and moved as if to stand up.

“I will of course cancel it immediately and return the suits.The invitations I had planned to send out tomorrow, so I don’t have to worry about telling everyone it’s canceled. Now, the 19th century drug I’ve been trying to tell you about-”

John placed a finger on Sherlock’s lips stopping both his words and his intention to get up, his own lips pulled up into a fond smile.

“No, don’t. Cancel it I mean. I wasn’t kidding when I said it sounded wonderful. I would absolutely be honored to marry you Sherlock Holmes. On one condition though.”

Sherlock settled back down into his seat slowly, surprise and hope coursing through him.

“Yes, John?”

“Ask me to marry you again, now that I’m actually here and present?”

Sherlock smiled and let out a small laugh.

“John Watson, will you feel sentiment and marry me?”

“Yes Sherlock. One hundred percent yes.”


End file.
